sometimes i hate myself


The distinctive familiarity the earth’s loneliness,

finding it again and again under my bed

Don’t be a fool.

Ive been blued with love and bitter from myself

Through the earth

Through my veins

Nothing became of it.

Still, we speak of pleasantries and we hide our wounds from the dirt

Wounds to become, to go forth, and from

I repeat my recognition with blood, but don’t speak of the soul

So why do I speak at all?

Craving maintenance,

Even though

“There is nothing to be ashamed of”

don’t be a fool.

damn brah this shit sad as fuck

got me feeling like